


Portraits of Kalindra

by tklivory



Series: Kalindra Tabris [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, Mild Sexual Content, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tklivory/pseuds/tklivory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are short snippets of stories based on my character Kalindra Tabris (there are also spoilers here, so please read *Hope for Light* first!) Each piece will be directly related to an image in the story. These are generally going to be light, fluffy pieces with a bit of romance, and are designed to expand her main story of Hope for Light. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Inspiration

 

.~^~.

 

"What did you do yesterday?" Kalindra asked him, a light teasing in her tone. "It must have been  _so_  lonely, being by yourself for that long."

"You know me, I just fall to pieces when you can't come in to work." Daveth's arm slipped around her waist as he pulled her closer. His bed was very warm, if a bit small, but then, as he always claimed, so was she. Pressing his lips to her temple, he murmured, "How's Shianni, by the by?"

"Better. Her wrist needs to be wrapped up for a while, but she'll live." A grin crossed her face. "And complain about it the entire time it's healing."

"It could be worse," he pointed out. "She could have been hurt  _by_  the merchant, instead of spraining her wrist decking him one."

She giggled. "Yeah, they don't expect us to object  _quite_  that strongly when they try to charge us five times the price they charge you shems for a basket of fruit." With a sigh, she leaned her head back on his pillow. His body warmth lulled her, and she let her eyelids drag shut. "Slim and I had a talk with that merchant, too."

"Oh, and I missed it!" He dramatically slapped his hand on his forehead. "You know how much I love twitting people about that kind of thing."

"Especially since you did it yourself at first," she said, poking him in the side  _right_  where she knew he was ticklish.

"Hey, take that back!" He poked her back, where  _she_  was ticklish, and it quickly devolved into a more intimate give and take.

Later, as they lay naked together, she ran her fingers through the hair on his chest - still somewhat of a novelty for her, given elvish anatomy - and craned her neck to look up at him. "So what  _did_  you do yesterday?"

"Oh, just finished a little project I was working on. We could go look at it if you like."

Intrigued, she sat up and stretched languorously "All right." She squealed when he reached over and slapped her lightly on the rump as he got out of bed, and scrambled after him to repay the favor.

When she left his tiny bedroom and found him in the kitchen, however, she stopped. Her eyes widened as he turned to face her and swept his hand with a flourish across the large paper he'd pinned to the wall with a small dagger. "So, what d'you think? Should I quit my night job and become an artist?"

She didn't reply as she approached him, transfixed by the work of art. "That— that's me," she whispered.

"Work with what you know," he said. His hand reached out and stroked along her cheek. "And we've been together for a while now, even before I convinced you to do more than glare at me on occasion."

"It— It's beautiful. I didn't know you could draw, let alone something like this." She moved even closer, reaching up to touch it for a moment.

"Hmm, a good inspiration'll do for me any time." He pursed his lips. "Still… I'm not exactly poor now, present quarters notwithstanding, and I think I'd prefer working next to you every night to being a starving artist." Sweeping her into his arms, he pulled her up into one of his long, lingering kisses, the ones he used when he wanted to 'make her ears curl'.

And they were usually successful.

She let her fingers trail down his muscular back to his waist and below, curling around the sculpted muscle and squeezing lightly. When he released her, she licked her lips and then smiled. "Maybe you'd prefer to do a nude study?"

His grin threatened to break his face. "Now  _that_  is an offer I can't refuse."


	2. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This scene for Kalindra and Nelaros takes place after the wedding ceremony in Hope for Light but before the events of the Wedding Feast the following day.

 

 

Kalindra relaxed on Nelaros’ chest, her arm lying across his bare chest. His fingers trailed up and down her spine, sending delightful shivers across her skin. Their legs were tangled together under the light blanket, and the sweat lingered in the cool night air.

She heard a chuckle deep in his chest and smiled. “Now what are you thinking? If it’s that trick with the ear again, I need a bit more time to recover first.”

His hand interrupted its languorous stroking to slap her rump lightly. “No, although thank you for reminding me to try it on the other ear later.” She bit her lip as a warmth went through her at the memory of when he’d used it on the  _first_ ear, but his hand resumed its light wandering. “No, I was thinking of how  _appropriate_  my first words were to you, given current circumstances.”

“Oh?” She shifted so that she could see his face, her hair falling like a curtain over his hairless chest, and she felt the little shiver as he reacted.  _Hmm, something_ else _to save for later._ “What exactly were those?”

“Don’t you remember? I said, ‘ _I am a lucky man to be so warmly welcomed.’”_ He caught up her lips in a kiss, and for a timeless moment they became lost in one another once more. Without thought she leaned into him, pressing herself against him as she reveled in the unabashed way he savored every curve of her mouth with his lips and tongue. When their lips finally parted, she felt life stirring below once more, and she slipped a hand down to encourage it.

“I seem to remember other words that I think are a bit more suited to the moment.” Her fingers moved over the blanket for a few strokes, then reached underneath the blanket and applied themselves in a more intimate fashion.

Nelaros shuddered as his head fell back against the pillow, his hand reaching down to knead the curve of her ass and pull her up slightly. “Ahh, I— I must admit, words are… rather hard, right now.”

She chuckled as she lightly began to apply her nails to the inside of his thighs, rewarded by a drawn-out groan from the man beneath her. “Don’t worry, words won’t be alone in that for too long.”

He barked a short laugh before groaning again as her fingers changed targets yet again. “So… what did I -  _nnh_  - say?”

“Hmm, let me think.” She leaned over and slowly wrapped her lips around his nipple, teasing it lightly with her teeth. “I think it was,  _‘I’ll spend every waking moment learning to make you happy.’_  Quite romantic, I thought.”

“Did I say that, or—” His hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her to sit astride him, his eyes moving over her naked torso. “—or did you say that?” When her hand reached up to fondle her own breast, he began to grind her, slowly but surely, from below.

“Does it matter?” she asked breathily as she leaned down to kiss him again. Her hands buried themselves into his hair as they gently learned each other, a process that had been going on for hours with varying amounts of vigor. It was almost impossible to believe they had only been married mere hours before as the last rays of sun had caressed the leaves of the  _Vhenadahl,_ yet each moment had been a treasure. 

Time melted away as their skin again acquired the sheen of sweat, the small room ringing with their gasps and moans. This time they ended with him over her, his final thrust pushing her deep into the worn mattress beneath. His hot breath poured over her neck as his lips relinquished the skin of her neck, and the sweet stinging of mild pain let her feel where he’d placed a Kiss of Love on her. Heaving himself half up so that he could look at her face, his fingers gently pushed her hair away from her eyes.

“You look… radiant.” Though he was still a bit out of breath, each word rang with sincerity. She smiled as he leaned down to kiss her lightly before falling into the bed next to her. After a few moments of rearranging their spent limbs, she settled against his chest and listened to his heart beat for a few moments.

As sleep claimed her, she again smiled and sighed with contentment. She’d found a man to live her life with, and deep inside a happy young girl fulfilled a promise made to a mother taken too soon.  _This is a man to make me happy, Mother._

And tomorrow at the Wedding Breakfast, she would make sure all of Denerim learned of her feelings.


	3. This We Share

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran Arainai has joined forces with the Grey Wardens, and now has to confront the all important question: Now what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is meant to be a scene in [Kalindra's Blight fic,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/686419) but it will be a while before I actually manage to write up to this scene in the fic. The art I commissioned for this is simply too pretty and perfect not to share. So, I'm publishing this separately for now.

_([artwork commissioned](http://chenria.deviantart.com/art/What-do-you-think-you-are-doing-442120365) by the amazing [Chenria](http://chenria.deviantart.com/))_

* * *

 

 _Her smile dazzled him, as it had from the moment they met. Seeing it on her face while she lay naked beneath him did little to lessen the impact, and Zevran couldn't help but respond with a slow, sultry smile of his own. Her hand reached up and delicately stroked the outline of the tattoo on his face before trailing down to stroke_ other _places. Around them, the dim light of many candles gave the room a delicate glow and glinted from her sweat-slicked form, outlining lush curves and lithe limbs. As her fingers invoked the inevitable response from his body, despite their recent exertions, she snuggled closer to him. "Copper for your thoughts."_

_Zevran chuckled and wrapped an arm around her, trailing some fingers down her arm lightly even as he began to lose track of the here and now under her touch. Unable to fully voice the depth of the feelings that trembled within, he smiled and replied, "I am merely thinking of how fortunate I am to have met you, my dear."_

_Shifting so that her dark hair spilled over his chest, she leaned over and began placing gentle kisses on his chest. He lifted some luxurious strands to his face and breathed deeply, inhaling the soft sandalwood scent that infused them. Groaning as pleasure swept over him, he happily succumbed to her thorough attentions. As she moved down his body, she murmured, "I was thinking the same thing."_

_Arriving at her destination, she smoothly replaced fingers with lips, humming slightly to enhance the sensation. Lulled by soft music and skilled tongue, he closed his eyes and finally surrendered completely._

Zevran woke with a start, the lingering smell of sandalwood carrying over from his dream to reality. For a confused moment, his mind returned to that night, remembering the soft weight of her in his arms and hearing the unspoken words between them as clearly as if they had dared to utter the forbidden truth. Instinctively he reached for her, hands searching the empty blanket next to him for the memory of her warmth.

The movement woke pain throughout his body as new bruises objected to his actions. Groaning, he lay back on the bedroll beneath him, fighting nausea caused by a sharp blow delivered to his stomach by the human Grey Warden he had been hired to assassinate. Overhead the stars stirred and danced as his vision swam, legacy of the blow to his head from the other Grey Warden, she of the bleak gaze and deadly daggers.

Turning his head, he stared at the bonfire, fighting to bring it into focus, struggling to remember how he had gone from paradise to this sorry state. Slowly the memories returned: a meeting with Arl Howe and Teyrn Loghain, an ambush carefully planned and executed, a battle lost through no seeming fault of his own. With the memories, he recalled also the undercurrent that overshadowed all else, the pulse of his existence since he had parted ways with Taliesen: the desire for death. _And I thought I had at last found it. Why am I here, and not in the Fade?_

A figure moved between him and the flickering light of the bonfire, breaking his concentration. Looking up, he met the carefully neutral gaze of an older human woman with grey hair. _Wynne._ Lips pressed together, she knelt beside him and laid hands on his forehead. "Finally you awake." Her hands glowed blue, presaging magic, and warmth seeped into his body, brushing away the pain, relieving his nausea, and sharpening his gaze.

Breathing deeply, he gingerly sat up and moved his hands over his body where the worst of the injuries had been. Bowing his head in acknowledgment to the mage, he said, "I am in your debt, my dear woman."

"Well, it would do us no good for you to languish on a bedroll while we do all the work, now, would it?" she said, a touch of acerbity in her voice as she got to her feet. Unspoken was the admonition: _especially when you were injured while trying to kill the Wardens._

Sighing, Zevran realized he had his work cut out for him if he wished to truly become a part of this unique group, though that was a question he honestly hadn't answered even for himself as of yet. As he stood, he issued a courtly bow to the older woman. "Nevertheless, I understand that to use magic is to offer a gift of your own skill. For this, I thank you."

She measured him with eyes like shards of blue ice. With a slight shake of her head, she said, "We shall see how sincere those words prove to be, young assassin. I am watching you. We are all watching you." With that declaration, she turned and stalked away.

Uncertain of what to do, he glanced around the camp. Feeling hostile eyes upon him, he searched until he found the source: the suspicious stare of the male Grey Warden. _Alistair._ A handsome enough fellow, and very protective of his fellow Warden. Nodding in the man's direction, Zevran noticed with subtle amusement that the man quickly looked away as if he hadn't been trying to burn a hole in Zevran through the sheer power of his gaze.

Chuckling softly to himself, he glanced to his right where a red-haired woman sat gazing into the fire while strumming on a lute. _Leliana._ An Orlesian, judging by her accent, and possibly a bard given her skill with various instruments both musical and metal. _She seemed slightly more amenable to my company than Ser Suspicious over there,_ Zevran mused. Deciding to test the waters in that direction, he put on a charming smile on his face and walked over to the lovely lady. "That sounds lovely, my fair minstrel."

She looked up at him, a smile coming to her lips though, Zevran noted, it did not quite reach her eyes. "Oh, you're awake! I was worried when you suddenly collapsed like that. Wynne said that your injuries were worse than we thought and that we should let you rest until the opportunity arose to fully heal you."

 _An unexpected kindness._ And kindness it was, to let him rest in peace rather than forcing him on as the Crows would have demanded. After all, rest was for the _weak._ Already, potential differences between his past and present lives were presenting themselves. His face remained neutral, however, as he didn't wish to reveal too much of himself - _yet._ "And here I am, whole and well again thanks to her infinite wisdom."

Her smile remained unchanged as Leliana inclined her head towards him. "That's good to hear."

Sensing that Leliana simply put a prettier face on her distrust than Alistair had, he decided it would be better on the whole to ease away from this conversation. "As much as I would wish to linger in the presence of such loveliness, I feel I must away. The beast within calls for satisfaction." He patted his stomach and gave her a saucy wink. "But no need to inflict that upon you. Until next we meet, my lady." Giving her an elegant bow as well, he turned and moved towards what he hoped was the stewpot. To his delight, it was, and he made quick work of the warm bowl he dished out for himself.

As he cleaned the bowl with a cloth left for just such an endeavor, however, he again took stock of his situation. _It is obvious I am not welcome, and equally obvious that if I remain, I will need to prove my loyalty repeatedly._ That sounded… well, in a word, _tedious,_ but he didn't really see an alternative if he wished to commit himself as he had promised he would.

Of course, the mere contemplation of true capitulation made the cynical Crow within awake, tinged with a bit of Ignacio. _Why pretend? You know this is a ruse to get closer to your targets. You? Loyal to a_ person, _to a_ cause?* Pah! _You are a Crow! Act like one!_

Zevran looked once more at the stars, pondering the question. _So, I suppose it comes down to this: am I a Crow, or not?_

The memory of a beautiful woman lying in a pool of her own blood, staring up at him with an expression of hurt and betrayal which far surpassed the physical pain inflicted upon her by his blades, flashed through his mind.

Gasping, he shut his eyes. _What price my soul?_

As if in response to his own turmoil, a soft sound reached his ears, carried by the cold night wind. Dim though it was, he readily recognized the sound, one which made him frown intently. _Who would be weeping on such a fine night such as this?_ It merited investigation, certainly, and the memory of Rinna's cries lingering in his mind certainly didn't dissuade him as he traced the crying to its origin.

His search brought him to a small copse of trees well away from the camp. After a cautious approach, he found that the trees concealed a tiny clearing of no more than four paces across. With the care he normally reserved for sneaking up on his targets, he moved closer so he could peer into the dark embraces of the shadow. A glint of metal alerted him to the presence of a blade, and he froze, uncertain if he had been spotted. As another soft sob echoed through the clearing, he frowned and squinted slightly to improve his vision.

What he saw took him completely aback.

Inside, kneeling in the center of the clear area, was the deadly sex goddess to whom he had earlier pledged his oath of loyalty. What arrested his attention, however, was not the fact that her hair was unbound in a dark river of silken glory, or that she was lacking armor and tunic, exposing a rather magnificent bosom of luscious proportions. No, what spurred him into desperate movement towards her was the naked blade she held to her chest, one hand slowly tightening around the other in preparation for a final, lethal thrust.

As he reached her small form, one hand instinctively pulled the dagger from her hands and threw it to the side, ignoring the pain as it sliced deeply into his palm. The other wrapped about her torso, preventing her from reaching for her other weapons. As she struggled weakly against him, he merely held her tight, whispering comforting phrases from his native Antiva into her ear, trying to calm her. Not caring what he said, knowing only that it was the tone that mattered, he felt her trembling gradually diminish.

Finally she sagged against him, exhausted. Only then did he relinquish his grip and pull back to meet her gaze with his own. "Better?" he whispered softly, careful, oh so careful, to avoid another emotional storm.

Inexplicably, she reached up and traced the outline of his ear with one hand before drawing in a shuddering breath and nodding slightly. "You aren't—" she said, then bit her lip. "Yes, I am better."

Puzzled by her action, he chose not to ask her about it at the moment. Instead, he nodded as he slowly released her from his embrace, though he was ready to pull her close again if she went for either of the daggers sitting in plain view. "You know, it would have been a most inauspicious beginning of my service to you, my dear Warden, if I allowed you to do away with yourself." Relieved to see a small smile cross her lips, he added, "In addition, it has occurred to me that I do not actually know your name. Generally, I prefer to know the names of deadly sex goddesses before they end up half-naked in my arms."

She gasped, trying to cover her chest with her hands before reaching behind her to grab her discarded tunic. To Zevran's unvoiced disappointment, she quickly pulled it on over her head. Obviously feeling uncertain, she busied her hands with securing her hair into a tightly knotted ponytail for a few moments, then looked at him again. "I am Kalindra Tabris of Denerim."

 _Ah._ The information made some of her reticence towards him clear, given what he recalled of the rumors he had heard while he'd been in Denerim to accept the contract. "The Alienage?"

Pain flickered across her eyes as the shadows returned to her face. "Yes."

He studied her intently as the despair began to return to her, and gently reached out to cup her chin. Remembering the scars he had seen on her neck and chest, and now belatedly recognizing them for what they were, he told her, "I was not always a Crow." He lifted her face so that their eyes would meet. "I recognize a woman who has suffered the whims of tyrants, my dear Warden." She shuddered and tried to break free from his grasp. Knowing it would be unkind to trap her in any fashion, he allowed her to move away. "I will not press for that which you do not wish to reveal, but I humbly request that before you choose such a final solution to what troubles you that you seek the help of those who love you." He glanced in the direction of the camp. "Surely there are those who would mourn your loss even more than I, and we have only just met."

A flash of guilt crossed her face before she forced it to become neutral. "I… I do not know if some of them would…"

Surprised, he said, "But of course they would! They all hovered around me like angry kestrels, making certain that I wouldn't harm their precious Warden!" He _tsk_ ed her, shaking his head. "Especially that Alistair – now there is a man who—" He stopped as she abruptly reached out and put a hand over his mouth to silence him. _Interesting,_ that her fellow Grey Warden would elicit such a response.

"Please, can we—can we talk of something else?" Her voice lacked any tone or color, any emotion or emphasis, but he felt the trembling in her hand.

His face softened as a faint ache woke in his heart, and along with it, a rising anger. _Someone_ had abused this beautiful woman, and badly. If the Maker were kind, perhaps Zevran could one day return the favor to him. Gently, he reached up and took her hand into his own, kissing her fingertips with delicate care. "Certainly, my dear Warden." It was a special voice he'd learned while in training to be a Crow, but it was appropriate to the situation. Calm, soothing, a voice used to disarm and placate. He let a faint smile come to his lips and asked, "Perhaps you would like to hear about my adventures in Antiva?"

She looked at him, her eyes glowing faintly in the dim moonlight. "I would like that."

"Most excellent." He glanced down to where their hands were still joined, suddenly aware that he was bleeding all over her delicate fingers. "However, I believe we need to return to camp so that I can beg one additional gift from the lovely Wynne."

Startled, she glanced down at his hand. "Did-did I--?"

He waved her concern aside. "It was worth it, my dear Warden." Standing, he gallantly presented his undamaged hand in assistance. "Shall we?"

As they walked back to camp, curiosity about his erstwhile new leader set his thoughts afire. _A desire for oblivion is not what I expected to have in common with you, that is certainly true._ Glancing at her profile, he wondered, _And what is_ your _reason, my deadly sex goddess? Is it a result of the scars you bear, or another motivation entirely? Ah, you present quite the mystery, my dear._ He smiled as she looked at him, letting it grow as she smiled back at him hesitantly. _And it is a mystery I am content to explore over time._


End file.
